Without You
by winged-soldiar
Summary: Harry Potter Twilight xover Quill died when Claire was six, Claire is now a witch. She will do anything to help Quill become alive again. Happy Potter is not is this story, just the witchcraft. Quil/Claire


_**Okay, Quill died trying to save Claire—who had wandered off on an Easter egg hunt into the woods—from a crimson-eyed **__**vampire alone. (The pack wasn't looking for Claire, Quill and Claire were chasing each other when she wandered off.) All this happened when Claire was six, she soon after became silent to everyone, morning. Her Uncle Sam gave her the talk about Vampires and Werewolves after the funeral. **_

_**Now Claire is 15, (16 in five days) and had moved to Fort Worth, Texas to try and escape the morning, but is still in morning, this is Quill's death date. (September 18**__**th**_

_**Harry Potter and Twilight xover.**_

**Without You**

By: winged-soldiar

_Chapter #1-Yellow Roses And Reunions_

* * *

Ten years. It has been teen years since _he_ died. I still remember it, and I remember that it was my entire fault that he isn't here today.

I hate myself. If I hadn't gone running out into the woods, he would be here. But I was only six, right? I didn't know any better right? Wrong.

Quill had told me that it was way too dangerous to go out into the old, bad woods. He had told me that bad people lived there and they would try to hurt me. He said that he wouldn't let them, but that I wouldn't give them the chance.

I am such a fool.

I now know that I can never have him back. I hate that little detail in this magical, mystical, life. It's still life. And in real life, everybody dies.

I figured out a few weeks after that horrible day that he was a werewolf. It didn't surprise me. I didn't even act. I just sat there, emotionless and not speaking, "I gave them a nod to tell them that I understood.

I haven't spoken since my last words to Quill.

I haven't spoken since the day he died.

I have gotten a little better. I've half-smiled a few times. I even laughed once.

When I was twelve I learned that I was a witch.

I am _still _a witch, even going to a school for witchcraft.

I sometimes wonder if Quill would be proud of me.

I am now fifteen, almost sixteen, and am trying to regain my composure.

A single tear strolled my cheek. I can't help but remember his last words, and they were spoken only to me.

_Claire, _he had said, _I have been in love with you for a while, and I still do. I love you, Claire. And I don't care what anyone thinks, it's love. Pure love. Goodbye, Claire-y. _

That's what he used to call me, Claire-y. Another tear rolled down my cheek from the mere memory.

No, it wasn't just a tear, it was rain.

How long have I been standing here? When had it started raining? I wondered.

I was standing at the edge of the lake on the school grounds, morning while looking out to the far edges of the earth.

I was vaguely aware that I was now drenched and that people were staring at me.

I pulled the trench coat tighter around my small, black frame. I could see that my hands had turned the color of winter snow out here, but I wasn't panicked, my skin is always paler in cold rain.

I trudged back towards the small building that was vastly bigger on the inside. I knew that my warm bed would be waiting on the inside.

I walked the steps to my room in a haze, lost in my memories.

* * *

I was three and I was flying around in Quill's warm arms.

* * *

I was four and speaking all the words I knew to Quill.

* * *

I was five and I was lying in a bed with Quill. (Family camping trip, I was cold, and he was my space heater.)

* * *

I was six and I was lying on the ground next to a dying Quill, his last words coming out fast a muffled, but still decipherable.

* * *

I was six and three quarters and I was standing at the grave of my brother, best friend, and the only person that knows the real me.

* * *

I was seven and staring at a picture of a chocolate brown werewolf with tears in my eyes, I was curled up in a ball, wishing that Quill could come hold me.

* * *

Suddenly I was at the door of my room, key in hand. I shut down all my thoughts and shoved the key into the lock. I turned it and opened the door, there was not squeak for me as there was for all the other girls. I was naturally silent. My roommates even called me a shadow, because of my black eyes, tan skin, silent nature plus I only ever wear black, or dark colors makes me a shadow? At least I still have my blonde hair.

I walked over to my bed and striped my clothing. The other girls were out and about, probably making out with their boyfriends.

I got into bed, but not before I changed into a black t-shirt and gray sweat pants, (my pajamas) and snuggled under the warmth, it wasn't as warm as Quill's skin, but close. I fell asleep quickly. Tomorrow I will send a dozen roses to Quill's grave. Yellow was his favorite. I will send yellow roses to the grave at the old La Push cemetery.

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